My Brother's Keeper
by syfygal
Summary: In an attempt the escape life as supernatural fodder, Scott and Stiles head out for a week long camping trip, but it doesn't take them long realize that Natural can prove just as dangerous as Supernatural...


**A/N:** As a recent Teen Wolf fan, I hope I do these guys justice. I'm a big fan of the Scott/Stiles friendship and while I love the other characters, I crave their little moments. This story is an experiment to see if I can set the scene and write complicated personalities without them being OOC. I also love stories that are action packed from beginning to end, so there'll be no preamble, I'll just jump straight into it. Please leave a comment - I would appreciate any constructive criticism and advice to make this story worth clicking the review button! **  
**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Teen Wolf or its fantastic characters. I will return them relatively unscathed. Mostly.

 **SUMMARY:** _In an attempt the escape life as supernatural fodder, Scott and Stiles head out for a week long camping trip, but it doesn't take them long realise that Natural can prove just as dangerous as Supernatural..._

 **RATING:** T/M

 **CHARACTERS:** Mostly Scott & Stiles – the rest of the pack will make an appearance

 **GENRE:** Friendship/Hurt-comfort

 **WARNINGS:** Swearing, blood, gratuitous character bashing and detailed description of injury. It's Teen Wolf...'nuff said.

* * *

 **My Brother's Keeper  
**

" _There is a destiny which makes us brothers; none goes his way alone.  
All that we send into the lives of others, comes back into our own"_

 _\- Edward Markham_

Stiles was an idiot, really.

Growing up around a vast nature preserve should have taught him to avoid putting your hand somewhere that could potentially be the home of something bite-y.

He and Scott had been mucking around as they hiked the trail, tossing a ball to each other – when the werewolf overshot, sending it into the undergrowth.

Looking back, Stiles thought he maybe shouldn't have groped around blindly for the stupid thing, so excited about the fact that the pair had finally gotten some peace, that he didn't hear the warning rattle. It was quick - a jab of intense pain - localized in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger and he bit back a cry, snatching his hand away.

'Dude, you good?' Scott asked in concern, jogging to reach him; his nose wrinkled tight – as though he could smell something Stiles couldn't.

The human blew out a shaky breath, and hazarded a glance at his increasingly burning hand.

'Aww man…' he murmured, feeling a twinge of panic in the pit of his stomach at the sight of two tiny holes oozing blood.

Scott reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, cocking his head at the enhanced sound of furious rattling.

 _Rattling._

The werewolf met his friend's dark eyes and frowned.

'Stiles?'

His mouth was slightly agape, bottom lip trembling minutely as his breath grew faster. Scott could smell the blood and shit - the _venom_. It smelt absolutely _terrible._ Strong and acidic, like turpentine…and it was in his friend.

His friend that was steadily breathing himself into a panic attack of epic proportions.

'Hey buddy? Stiles? Look at me bro.' Scott urged calmly, squeezing the joint just a little to get his attention. He was already quaking all over, and the pain that the werewolf leeched away was so awful, it was a surprise that Stiles wasn't already down and out.

'Scotty…' he panted, reaching out blindly and fumbling for a second before grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

'I'm here dude. You need to calm down.'

Sucking in a deep breath, he held it – squeezing his eyes shut. A tear escaped, but Scott didn't call him out. This was his brother, one that he had nearly lost to the Nogitsune. He'd seen him at his best and his worse. It didn't matter.

A whimper escaped his lips, and he gripped tighter. It didn't matter how much pain Scott took, it was being replaced with an intense ferocity.

'Stop…taking it.' Stiles gasped, dipping his head and slowly blowing the breath from his cheeks. 'It's not helping anyway.'

Scott furrowed his brow as he listened to his brother's heart beating wildly in his chest – it wouldn't be long before the venom flooded his system. He really needed to _calm the fuck down_.

The werewolf moved his grip higher and squeezed, his other hand reaching to curl around the side of his neck. His eyes flashed amber.

'Stiles…if you don't calm down _right now_ , this is going to end _badly._ Look at me.'

When the boy didn't comply, Scott released a warning growl from deep in his chest and his grip tightened.

He needed Stiles to be calm, because he knew what would happen if he didn't regulate his breathing.

Once, a dog had been brought into the clinic from a rattler bite…it was a messy, painful experience and after about a day, despite Deaton's best efforts, the dog succumbed to the venom.

Scott felt like an asshole, using his 'wolf powers' against Stiles, but human or not – the boy in front of him had been his pack _before_ he got turned, and if…

He squashed that less-than-pleasant thought away and tried again.

'Breathe… _now_.' He snarled.

Stiles met his gaze, a dark eyebrow raised – and despite the fear in his eyes, and the horrible pain that only seemed to be growing worse, he scoffed.

'Figures. Using your wolf-y super powers to order me _not_ to have a panic attack – you've reached a new low, Scott McCall. I'm impressed.'

Scott gave him a half smile and patted his neck. 'Yeah, well…in case you didn't notice dude, it kinda worked. I was running out of ideas.'

True enough, Stiles could feel his heartbeat even out and the anvil on his chest lifted a little. Regardless of how he felt about Scott's little display of domination, the boy could think a little clearer now and he couldn't fault the werewolf for his actions.

'Yeah…well, what now? We're three days away from civilisation…and if memory serves me correctly – which it usually does – We've got about 48 hours before I die horribly. My math isn't great, but I'm pretty sure the odds aren't good.'

Scott bit his lip, still aware of the rattling close by. His friend made an excellent point.

'How you feel?'

Stiles gaped at him, eyes narrowing into a downright glare. 'I feel fantastic bro. I could vomit fuckin' _rainbows._ '

The werewolf sighed impatiently. Now wasn't the time for sarcasm, but the comment surfaced a quiet memory from back in the beginning of this whole _werewolf_ mess.

" _I'm 147 pounds of pale flesh and fragile bone. Sarcasm is my only defense."_

Scott shook his head. 'What I meant was- '

He didn't get a chance to finish, because in the space of a minute, Stiles had turned three shades whiter and was swaying where he stood, looking ready to hurl. It probably wouldn't be rainbows.

The werewolf reacted quickly as Stiles' legs gave way, catching him before he could hit the ground and taking the boy's weight against his chest.

Their options were limited – they had wasted too much time already. His friend was still conscious, if only just and when Scott tried to siphon more pain, he stumbled at the force of it. He took a deep breath and tried to squash the mounting panic – because it wouldn't do Stiles any good if he lost his cool now.

'Ok buddy, I'm going to get us away from here…I need to look at that hand.'

Stiles nodded against his chest and protested slightly when Scott pulled him to his feet. Stiles gripped his shirt again and groaned, before puking spectacularly – splattering himself with sick.

'Yummy,' he murmured weakly.

* * *

The pain had already surpassed tolerable levels and it took all of Stiles' dwindling strength not to scream. It was like fire in his veins, wearing him down with terrible rapidity and he knew Scott could feel it. The world tilted alarmingly and he nearly lost his legs again, but instead of falling against his friend's chest, he felt himself being draped over Scott's back, with a face full of his ass. As if that didn't add insult to injury. Stiles, however, took it all in stride, giving his butt a friendly pat and quietly praying the werewolf didn't fart.

When Scott started running, it wasn't the speed so much that bothered Stiles – it was the bumpiness…apparently werewolves don't have great suspension and his Jeep would probably come in handy right about now. The ground was a blur, and Stiles wasn't sure whether it was because Scott was _really_ fast, or if his vision was going wonky because of the blood rush to his brain. It could have even been the god-awful agony and the sick and _aww_ _ **fuck**_ _…_ because now he _was_ screaming.

Scott slid to an abrupt stop in a clearing about half a mile from where the action started and Stiles was clawing desperately at the back of his legs, crying himself hoarse.

'Fuck! God make it _stop_ ,' he yelled, squirming and kicking his way from Scott's back, landing heavily on the ground and spewing before he could scream again.

'Stiles! _Stiles!'_ The werewolf did start panicking now, because his friend was writhing in the dirt – alternating between puking and sobbing, sweat dripping from his lank hair. Scott found himself on his knees, hands hovering uncertainly before resting on the small of Stiles' back. The boy flinched and whimpered, rolling over, with his eyes squeezed shut and _holy mother of God_. His shirt had ridden up in the struggle, revealing a colorful array of bruising across his flat abdomen. Scott took a deep breath and pressing a palm against his stomach, took as much of the pain as he could. Stiles battered at his hand weakly, shook his head and Scott moved away hesitantly to really _look_ at the injured limb. His hand had ballooned to three times its normal size and his arm was almost entirely purple.

'Aw shit, buddy.' He muttered, removing his hiking bag – which was probably the reason Stiles was so bruised. As quickly as he could, he set up their two-man tent and removed Stiles' soiled shirt before moving him inside. Time was against them, because a deep sniff of their surroundings told the werewolf one thing. A storm was coming…and it was gonna be a big one.

* * *

Somehow, even after all the spewing and screaming – Stiles managed to stay conscious. _Barely_. The rain was now coming down in torrents and it was looking more and more like they were going to lose the fight. Scott didn't even considering biting him; it wasn't something that Stiles wanted and in the state he was in now, it was more likely to kill him faster.

'Penny…for your thoughts?' The injured boy gasped, patting Scott's knee weakly.

The werewolf smiled half-heartedly. 'I normally can't get you to shut up dude. Now I'd give anything for one of your hyperactive rants.' He admitted, absentmindedly carding his fingers through Stiles' damp hair.

'Yeah…well, you can't always get what you want, dog-boy.'

Scott snorted. Stiles was _dying_ and he still found the energy to crack a joke – it was his defense mechanism. Scott had teeth, claws and super-speed. Stiles…well he had an endless supply of sharp wit, dry sarcasm and a baseball bat that had seen better days. Which wasn't going to help him now.

The werewolf frowned and looked at the bite again, wondering why he didn't think of doing it sooner. Without a word, he took a deep breath and sealed his lips around the wound.

' _Dude_! Not on the second date. Warn a girl next time, won't ya?' Stiles protested weakly as Scott began to suck. The blood was hot on his tongue – metallic, with a more than a hint of yuck. The venom filled his mouth with burning, but he kept going.

'You aren't supposed to do that, dumbass…' the youth wheezed, trying to sit up. Scott shoved him back with his free hand, turned his head to spit and continued.

Stiles whimpered and closed his eyes, hoping to god his friend didn't swallow any before realizing that Scott had super healing powers as well.

After about ten minutes, Scott withdrew – spitting out his tenth mouthful of poisoned blood – and sighed.

'Would you let me bite you, if it came to it?' He asked cautiously, already knowing the answer.

It took a while for Stiles to respond and when he did, his voice was weak and broken.

'N-not a fucking chance in hell, bro. I'd rather die.'

The statement didn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. Scott would've preferred dying over getting bitten if _he'd_ been given the choice.

'I'd rather you _didn't_ , if that's alright by you.'

Stiles didn't reply. His eyes where closed – breath coming in shallow pants. Down and out – about time too.

Scott needed help desperately and he wondered whether or not the pack would hear if he called for help. At this point, anything was worth a try.

He crawled out of the tent, raised his head to the black sky and roared.

* * *

 **Please let me know what you think! Leave a comment :)**


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